


Under Fire

by Persiflage



Series: Watson & Magnus: Tales from Wartime [3]
Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Established Relationship, F/M, Porn With Plot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-22
Updated: 2011-06-22
Packaged: 2017-10-20 15:33:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson and Magnus during WW1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under Fire

**Author's Note:**

> I remembered the line in 'Firewall' from Magnus about operating in the trenches at Verdun, and the plot bunny, who apparently has fallen hard for Watson/Magnus, insisted on this!  
>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own Sanctuary – if I did Watson wouldn't be stuck as an historical character!

Dr Helen Magnus finished scrubbing her hands and arms, dried them off, then reached up to pull off her face mask, running a weary hand through her cropped hair. She’d just finished her final operation of the night after yet another day’s fighting in Verdun and she was exhausted, hungry and desperate for a bath. As she stretched her back, trying to work the kinks out of her muscles, a voice addressed from the doorway of the casualty clearing station.

“Dr Magnus?”

She turned and saw one of the orderlies standing in the doorway, and behind him, unbelievably, was her friend and lover, Dr James Watson.

“James! What are you doing here? How did you find me?” She fired questions at him as she hurried over to him, a smile of pleasure lightening her tired expression.

“Hello Helen.” He didn’t answer her questions, just held out his arms and she gladly stepped into his embrace. “It’s good to see you again, love,” he said softly in her ear as he held her.

“You too. My god, you’re a sight for sore eyes. How long have you got?”

“I’m not on leave,” he answered. “I’ve been seconded temporarily to Souilly. As for how I found you, I _am_ an intelligence officer, in case you’d forgotten.”

“Oh shut up and kiss me!”

Watson laughed heartily, then obliged and kissed her deeply, earning cheers and wolf whistles from those of Helen’s patients who were waiting on stretchers nearby to be taken down to the base hospital.

“You’ll get me a reputation,” Helen said, when he finally released her.

Watson’s eyebrows rose. “ _You_ were the one who demanded that I kiss her,” he said, amusement lurking in his dark eyes. “Have you eaten?”

“Not recently,” she answered.

“You’ve lost weight,” he observed, taking her arm and leading her away from the CCS.

“So have you,” she answered. “There _is_ a war on, after all.”

“I know.” His tone was mild despite the irritation in her own voice, but she saw something dark in his eyes as he glanced at her, and she stopped walking, forcing him to stop also.

“James, what’s happened?” she asked, trying to keep her voice from shaking as sudden doubts assailed her.

“Not here,” he answered. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“To Souilly.”

“I don’t have a pass,” she protested, although the thought of getting away from the trenches for a few hours was desperately tempting.

“Yes you have, I’ve arranged it.”

“Without asking me?”

“Yes,” he said shortly, as if she could have no objections, which she realised was true, even though she usually hated it when anyone behaved in such a high-handed fashion towards her.

Helen didn’t say anything else, she just allowed him to lead her away until they reached the road where a motorbike was parked.

“You came here on that?”

“Yes. Come on, I’ve got a spare helmet you can use.” He walked up to the bike and picked up two leather helmets, one of which he handed to Helen, before donning the second. He swung his leg over the motorbike with the ease of practice, but Helen found it slightly harder, especially with her long skirt hampering her legs.

“Hold tight,” he called, then gunned the bike and she quickly flung her arms around his middle, clutching him tightly. She felt his hand squeeze her folded arms, then he kicked the bike off its stand and they shot away far faster than she’d expected.

The bike was too noisy for conversation, but the town wasn’t too far away from the CCS, so it didn’t take long to reach Souilly. Watson drove up to the hotel, parking the motorbike down the side, out of sight of the street, and they both climbed down. Helen was shaking, in part because the trip had been made at such speed, but also because she wasn’t very warm.

“Come on.” Watson took her arm again and led her through a door into the back of the hotel, then up three flights of stairs. He stopped outside a plain wooden door, which he unlocked, then he ushered her inside.

He peeled off the leather gloves, long overcoat and goggles he’d been wearing, then took the helmet from Helen and dropped everything onto an overstuffed armchair in the corner of the room. She looked around, taking in the second chair beside the window, the battered wooden table shoved up against the far wall, and to the right of the door, a huge double bed.

“Do you want a bath?” Watson asked. “There’s a bathroom next door and the water is actually hot usually.”

“Usually? How long have you been here?” asked Helen, startled.

“Only since last night, but I’ve stayed here overnight a few times in the last three months.”

“I had no idea,” she commented, trying not to feel hurt.

“I couldn’t tell you,” he answered, his voice and eyes full of apology. “I was under orders.”

She nodded and forced a smile. “Well, if it’s not going to be an inconvenience, I would like a bath, thank you.”

“Right, you have a bath, and I’ll go and scare us up a meal. I’d take you down to the dining room, but we won’t be able to talk freely downstairs.”

”Very well.”

“I’m going to lock you in, just to be on the safe side,” he added hastily as her eyebrows rose in surprise.

Helen nodded again, then went over to the bed and sat down to take off her shoes. Watson opened the door, then slipped through and shut it again, and she heard the key in the lock. She wondered uneasily just what he’d been doing for the last three months to consider such precautions necessary, then shook her head and got up again. She padded around the bed in her stockinged feet, and pulled the curtains across the window to shut out the evening light, then she wandered back and opened the connecting door into the bathroom. It had a huge bath which dominated the small space, its iron-clawed feet making her think of dragons. There was a WC at the far side of the room, and a small wooden chair between the bath and the window, which had a blind covering it. On the chair were three large towels that looked surprisingly clean, a paper-wrapped bar of soap, a bottle of shampoo, and loofah. She was not surprised to see that both the soap and the shampoo were English, from a well-known London department store.

Helen returned to the bedroom and stripped off her nursing uniform which, though she was a doctor, the French medical authorities had insisted she wear when she’d first begun working for them on the battlefields. She stepped through into the bathroom again and ran herself a bath full of properly hot water, which she considered an absolutely luxurious necessity after three months of making do with the limited bathing facilities at the Casualty Clearing Station.

* * * * * *

She was lying back in the bath, one of the towels folded into a pad behind her head, when she heard the sound of footsteps in the bedroom, then the door opened and Watson peered in.

“Feeling better?” he enquired, his tone genial and his eyes alight with amusement.

“A good deal better,” she agreed.

He smirked. “I’m tempted to join you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you?”

His smirk became an outright grin. “Give me two minutes then.”

Less than two minutes later he stepped back through the door, and she bit her lip at the sight of his lean, naked body.

“Budge up a bit,” he requested, so she shifted her body backwards so that she was sitting up, and he climbed in at the other end, grinning at her.

She rolled her eyes, then tossed him the bar of soap, which he caught deftly, despite it being wet and slippery. “Show off!” she muttered, but she smiled at him, and his grin broadened.

He quickly set about washing himself, asking her questions about the wounded men with whom she’d dealt that day, and she answered as she watched him. She sensed there was a good deal that he was thinking about but not telling her, and she told herself that was only to be expected, given the classified work that he was doing.

“Are you ready to get out?” he asked, looking up and catching her staring at him.

She nodded, realising the water had cooled a good deal, and he got to his feet, then helped her to step out of the bath. They both dried themselves off quickly, then hurried back into the bedroom to dress again.

“You didn’t say you’d brought food up with you,” Helen said, feeling rather guilty when she saw the covered dishes on a tray on the table.

“Don’t worry, it’ll still be hot,” Watson answered, giving her a reassuring smile as he pulled on his trousers and shirt.

“Can you tell me anything about what you’ve been doing since I last saw you?” Helen asked as he began taking the covers off the food.

“A little,” he answered. “If I could, I’d tell you everything of course, but it is classified, and I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

He gestured for Helen to take one of the bowls of soup and passed her a spoon; she sat in the armchair by the window while Watson perched on the end of the bed. As they ate, he told her about his recent trips to Germany, where he’d been gathering information for the Allies in order to help them plan future battles.

”The trouble is,” he said, wiping a piece of bread around the inside of his now empty soup bowl, “that no one believes half of what I tell them, and they all argue about the best way to proceed.” He set the empty bowl back on the tray, then added Helen’s before uncovering two plates which held slices of roast beef and heaps of vegetables.

She accepted one of the plates from him, and some cutlery. “Too many cooks?” she said.

“Exactly.” He began to eat, almost bolting his food, and she wondered when he’d last had a decent meal – it had certainly been a few days for her as she’d been living on rations like everyone else.

“The worst thing is the way that almost none of the British top brass will believe a bloody word about conditions in the prisoner of war camps. They’re all so bloody convinced that the German top brass are gentlemen just like themselves. Idiots!”

His scorn was scathing and she winced, wondering if he’d expressed it so directly to his superiors. The Watson she’d known before the war was capable of great subtlety and could manipulate people without them even being aware of it, but this war-hardened man with angry sparks in his eyes, seemed far less restrained.

He flashed a glance at her and, as if he knew what she was thinking, said, “Don’t worry, I haven’t completely lost my ability to be tactful.”

She gave him a half smile. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“There’s no dessert I’m afraid,” he told her in a regretful tone as he put his empty plate back on the tray.

“I don’t mind,” she said truthfully.

Once she’d finished eating, he put the tray outside their bedroom door, then locked it from the inside.

“When do I have to be back at the camp?” she asked, wondering if there was time for them to get some sleep before she had to return to her duties.

“6 am tomorrow,” he said, his smile very suggestive.

“Not until then?” She pretended not to notice his smile, but as he walked back across the room to stand in front of her chair, she could see he was aroused, and when he bent down to gaze into her eyes, his own were hooded in a way she had always associated with his desire for her.

He didn’t answer immediately, but instead pulled her to her feet and wrapped his left arm around her, pressing her body firmly against his own as he began kissing her; the hardness of his arousal pressing against her caused Helen to feel a rush of desire that left her so dizzy that she was glad that he was holding her. He backed them up to the bed, then turned them around before pushing Helen down onto the bed, leaving her sprawled rather gracelessly onto her back. Before she could move or even catch her breath properly he climbed onto the bed beside her and began tugging her skirt up out of the way.

“James!” she gasped.

He grunted, then sat back on his heels to fumble urgently with the fastenings of his trousers.

“Can’t we at least get undressed first?” she asked plaintively. “I do have to go back to work in these clothes.”

He rolled his eyes, but he left his trousers fastened while he stripped her with almost brutal efficiency. She watched as he tugged his shirt off, almost tearing it in his hurry, then he stood up by her feet and dragged his trousers off.

“Satisfied?” he asked, his voice a husky growl of urgent desire.

“Yes, thank you.”

He parted her legs, then knelt down between them, and she reached for his erection, but he clasped her wrist and stopped her. “Later,” he said. “I want to be inside you right now.”

With that he lowered his body over hers and thrust inside her in one smooth movement that made her gasp. As a rule James Watson had always been a tender, considerate lover, often spending an hour in foreplay before he penetrated her, but tonight he was so urgent as to be rough. It was a shock, but it wasn’t unpleasant; she was, in fact, rather intrigued, and definitely turned on, by this hitherto hidden side of her lover.

She was also startled by the hunger and ferocity with which he kissed her while thrusting hard and deep into her throbbing pussy. Sometimes he even used his teeth, scraping them across her bare skin, which left behind a not unpleasant sting.

He drove her towards her climax at speed, and his own was not far behind; as he gasped her name while his cock pulsed and throbbed inside her, she came a second time, then he slumped over her, resting his weight on his elbows and forearms.

They lay there, too breathless to speak, for a few minutes, before he wrapped his arms around her body and rolled them both over so that she lay atop him.

“Thank you darling,” he said softly, his expression a mixture of embarrassment and relief. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“Not at all,” she said reassuringly.

“I’m sorry I was so urgent. I – “

“It’s all right, James, you don’t need to explain.” She kissed him firmly, wanting to stop him worrying unnecessarily.

He gave her a smile when she released his mouth, then reached up to run a hand through her short hair. “I still can’t used to this,” he said softly. “I miss your long hair.”

She shifted to lay her head on his shoulder. “I miss it too, but it’s much better to have it short when I’m in the trenches. It saves time for washing it, and it’s more hygienic too.”

“How bad is it in the trenches?”

“Horrendous,” she said frankly. “Sometimes I’ve had to operate in the trenches because there hasn’t been time to get the soldiers back to the CCS, and I still can’t decide which is worse, the mud or the bloody rats.”

Watson lay silent, his fingertips stroking up and down her spine. “Sometimes I feel guilty that I’m not up there with you,” he said, his voice so quiet she could barely hear him.

“Don’t,” she said, lifting her head again to stare down into his eyes. “I’m glad you’re not. I know you, you’d be leading the charges across No Man’s Land right in the teeth of the machine gun fire. Do you think I would relish the idea of seeing your dead or wounded body dragged back to the advanced dressing station?”

“No, I don’t think that,” he answered. “But my life is pretty cushy compared to the lives of the poor bloody sods in the trenches.”

“You’re still running risks, though,” Helen observed gently. “Especially if you’re being sent into Germany regularly.”

“I know. It’s just – ” He broke off and shook his head, as if frustrated.

“I do understand what you’re saying love,” she said softly.

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her long and deep. Eventually, though, they both needed to breathe, and some time after that they fell into a long doze, then into proper sleep.

* * * * * *

Watson woke a few hours later, and eased himself away from Helen so he could go to the bathroom. When he returned he saw she had woken, and he whispered an apology.

"It's all right," she answered. "I'm used to being woken if there's a raid on."

He nodded, and got back into bed beside her. She immediately laid her head on his shoulder and rested her arm across his lower ribs. He draped an arm over her, idly stroking his fingertips over her skin until she lifted her head and kissed him.

He felt a surge of desire, as if his mouth and his groin were directly attached to each other, and he groaned. Helen pulled away, eyes alight with amusement and mischief as she slid her hand down over his muscled stomach to rest on his thigh.

"Do I get to play this time?" she asked, her tone almost coy.

"I'd like that," he assured her, then gasped as she slid her fingertips down over his testicles, then back up to the root of his cock. She cupped his burgeoning erection in her right hand, and he felt himself hardening rapidly as she held him.

"You always have been good with your hands," he observed, before pulling her head down for another kiss.

"Flatterer," she said once she'd pulled away.

"Just telling the truth," he said. He shivered when she rubbed her thumb over the tip of his prick. "Dear god, Helen!"

She smirked, obviously pleased by his reaction, and he wrapped his arms around her, then rolled them over so that she lay supine beneath him, still holding his cock.

"May I?" he asked and she nodded, then guided him into herself. He began to thrust, but he was far less urgent this time, and he lavished kisses on her mouth, throat, shoulders and breasts at the same time.

They moved in the familiar, easy rhythm of a couple who'd been lovers for a long time, and he knew the precise moment to pick up the pace of his thrusts as Helen approached her orgasm. She began to arch up from the bed, meeting his thrusts with more force and he grinned with delight, then buried his face in the crook of her neck so that his cry of triumph was muffled.

They kissed again, then he rolled off her and they settled back down to sleep.

"Shall I wake you at five?" he asked quietly as she curled up beside him again.

"Yes please."

"All right. Goodnight."

"Night love."

* * * * * *

The next morning they made a hasty breakfast of coffee and croissants before Watson took her back up to the Casualty Clearing Station.

"I'm going to be here for about three weeks," he told her as they finished getting ready. "I'll try to see you again before I head back to Germany."

She gave him in an enquiring look, and he guessed she'd heard the note of uncertainty in his voice.

"Usually I take the train, but this next mission's going to be really top secret. I'm going to be flown into Germany by a chap called Sidney Holmes, a good man I'm told. And I've no idea how long I'll be there. I certainly won't be able to contact you until I get back into Allied territory."

He saw her swallow, and he pulled her into a brief embrace, then he kissed her quickly on the mouth. "I'll do my best to see you at least once more before I go," he promised.

"All right." She gestured at the door to their room, and he nodded, then unlocked it and led the way back downstairs.

* * * * * *

Magnus didn't see Watson again before he left for Germany, thought she did receive two letters from him. A week after his second letter, which came the day before he was flown into enemy territory, she saw a list of the dead that included one S Holmes, Airman First Class, who'd died while on a reconnaissance flight over Germany. His plane had been shot down and destroyed when the fuel tank exploded. Of Dr James Watson there was no mention.

 _To be continued..._


End file.
